The Other Edward
by StormxKira
Summary: When Edward Elric was sent through the Gate, we all know he fell into another's body. We all know who this other was. And we know a zeppelin collapsed on him. What we don't know, however, is how the other Ed fared after Ed's soul left. Did he really die?
1. The Crash

I wheezed dryly as the burning timber collapsed on me, wood planks pressing the air from my lungs. Glowing cinders rose into the sky; I could see them between the flames. As I tried to muster the strength to lift myself upward, to push the planks off of me, I caught a glimpse of blood trickling by my nose. When did I start bleeding? I must have gotten cut on something when the zeppelin crashed...

I shifted my arms and pushed up, arching my sore back. Bad move. I howled in pain as burning cinders spilled onto my back, making the fabric of my shirt melt and stick to my skin. My arms trembled and I fell to my stomach again, the heat of the flames making me woozy. Another cry of pain left my lips as part of a plank broke off and fell on my hand, flames still licking at the charred wood. I quickly withdrew my hand, swearing softly as the flesh where the wood touched was raw and angry.

"This isn't working," I murmured, gasping for breath and instead getting a mouthful of ash. I coughed again and felt the searing pain of more cinders falling on me. "I can't die..." I coughed, remembering my brother, Alfonse, was somewhere in the crowds of fleeing people, maybe even crying out for me as desperately as my heart cried out for him.

Shakily, I put my arms in front of me and tried to pull myself forward. I felt the wood shift behind me, and I knew it wanted to collapse on me, too. I coughed again, falling into a fit as the smoke choked me. I felt something wet, and I thought I had just coughed up some phlegm trapped in my lungs. But the taste...My eyes widened and I pulled my hand back to look at my hand. Blood splashed across my palm like red ink. I had a vivid flash of seeing Alfonse do the same thing once, and for the first time since the crash, fear surged through me. The wave of terror was so strong, I was afraid it would leave me too weak to escape.

I pulled myself forward more, carefully freeing my waist. Now, it would just be my legs to get out. Come on, Ed, I thought. Do it for Al...Do it for Dad...I noticed a gap in the wood planks they were under; the boards criss-crossed. It wasn't a large gap, but any gap helped. I rolled over onto my back, cringing in pain as the burns on my back brushed against the dirt road. "Alright, let's try this..." I jerked my legs back, or more of tried to. They moved a bit, but another scream of pain left me. They must be broken, I thought. Great. I clamped my eyes shut, wanting so much to cry from the mind-numbing pains. I prayed hard than ever that the wood would not collapse again. If God was real, now would be a choice time for him to prove it.

"Help me!" I cried out desperately, my voice cracking with smoke. Knowing my legs wouldn't cooperate, I moved my arms behind me, shut my eyes, and pulled back. My legs moved back, and the boards trembled but did not fall. I felt a faint trickle of hope at that, and I repeated this new method. Again, my legs pulled out a little and again the boards trembled but did not fall. However, my heart thudded. My feet were pointed up, and I knew I could not pull them without hitting the wood. Now was the moment of truth. Ready, God? Here's your test, I thought determinedly, glaring up at the heavens veiled with smoke.

I shut my eyes, took a deep breath, and pulled. Cinders showered over me as my toes clunked against the wood. I threw my arms up over my face, but the burns hurt just as badly. A few still managed to strike my face, but that didn't matter. My legs were broken, but that didn't matter either. My legs were free. I was free. I was broken, burned, and bleeding, but I was free, dammit. I rolled back onto my stomach and pulled myself across the road, yearning for the sweet relief the cool grass would bring.

I knew I was doomed as I slumped on the dew-coated grass. I lay there, panting from my efforts, and shut my eyes. God had lied, I thought bitterly. I still got hurt, all over there were burns from the scalding embers and scrapes from the merciless, stony dirt road. He didn't protect me at all...Alfonse...I could still here people screaming from the other zeppelins attacking. Let someone find me, I thought. Anyone, even if they kill me. End the pain... 


	2. Darkness and Pain

Darkness swirled in my vision. Is this what passing out is like? I've never passed out before. God, Alfonse will never let me live this down once he finds out. IF he finds out...

"Hey!" a voice called. I forced my eyes back open, but my left eye wouldn't open all the way. It's swollen, I realized dimly. This brought no panic as it would have a little while ago. I was apathetic. Well, given the choice, of course, I would have chosen life. But at the moment, I didn't care. Let them come.

"Hey!" the voice called again. It sounded closer, and I could hear grass crunching beneath boots.

"Ed?!" ...Shock? How did they know my name? No, HE. HE knew my name. And then, some part of my subconscious clicked.

"Roy...?" I croaked. Roy was leaning over me, and he rolled me onto my back. "Aanh!" I moaned, squirming weakly against the pain. Roy pulled his hands back immediately. Pain shot up my spin like poison-darted arrows, searing each burn.

"I can't touch you..." I heard Roy mumble. Yeah no crap, genius! I thought angrily, but even my mental temper got reigned in. Don't be mad, I told myself. He didn't know. It's dark, I'm not by the fire. He can't see my burns. Judging by the low groan of what I took as disgust, I guessed Roy's eyes were adjusting.

"Water..." I mumbled through chapped lips. My tongue practically stuck to the roof of my mouth. I turned my head a little to see him fumble in his coat pocket. I felt a rush of relief when he pulled out a canteen. I don't think I had ever been so thankful that he was always prepared for the worst. He carefully pushed the opening to my lips, but I was no baby. Masking the pain, I swiftly brought up my arms and tilted it up so the water flooded my mouth.

I swallowed, thinking for a moment that water was the best tasting substance on the planet. No, a voice in the back of my head corrected me. Strudel. Freshly baked apple strudel was the best. Man, I'm hungry...My heart ached at the thought of how Al and I used to always buy strudel on Saturdays and I'd eat while I watched him tinker with his mechanical stuff. I wasn't particularly interested in that kind of stuff, but something about it always drew me to watching...

I snapped myself from my thoughts and pulled the bottle away, feeling a little sheepish when I handed it back to Roy; I had drank at least half. But now, instead of feeling more energized and awake, I felt hollow and exhausted. My arms, legs, and damn near everything throbbed dully, and my back still stung like hornets had nested on it.

I looked up at my friend, not saying a word, just silently asking him to let me sleep. To my dismay, he shook his head. My eyes narrowed into a glare. That's no fair! I wanted to shout. No fair! No fair at all! Alfonse told me that it's when you're cold that you can't sleep! Please! Please, Roy...My eyes watered a little out of desperation, but if anyone ever asks, the smoke got in my eyes.

Roy looked as worried as me, which is odd since he's usually so calm. Somehow, it was unnerving to see. Yes, unnerving was the word. This whole experience was unnerving for both of us. "Bear with me," Roy muttered, drawing my attention again. One of his hands went under my head, one under my legs. He hoisted me up and I howled in pain, almost sobbing as my broken legs shifted. Guess he hadn't been able to see that either.

"Sorry!" he apologized hastily. I clamped my eyes shut and leaned my head against his chest for support.

"Just don't...do it again..." I whispered hoarsely.

Every step Roy took was agony. My legs would bump against his arm, and my back would shift slightly against his arms. Even such small touches made me whimper in pain and clutch his jacket tighter. They say that sometimes when you're in a lot of pain, you go numb. You have no idea how hard I prayed for it to happen to me.

And after a while...I think it did happen. The walk became less painful for me and I relaxed more. It was like being injected with a dose of morphine. I just felt...mellow. Mellow and numb. And as this content numbness spread through me, I also felt the strong urge to sleep again. I looked up at Roy, barely able to keep my eyes open, then shut my eyes, leaning my head against his chest again. I felt Roy's grip on me tighten a little, but this time I didn't wince. "Please make it..." he murmured. That's the goal, pal. That's the goal. And as that thought slipped away, so did I, and I prayed that the realm of dreams would bring me more peace than the panic and destruction going on around me. 


	3. White Room of Light

-1When I woke--the first thing--was--the light…It was there before…Even before I had my eyes open. Then--I made the mistake--of opening my eyes.

Light filled my head and I was blinded.

I didn't know where I was…Of course…I knew nothing…it was all so hard--even to think--never mind to remember.

I shut my eyes--quickly.

-----

Slowly…  
Ever so slowly, things began to change. I began to think, and I began to remember.  
I realized where I was. I must be in a hospital. Where else could I be--after what had happened to me? Thank Roy, I reminded myself.  
I had only been in a hospital--once or twice before. And I could tell that I wasn't--in my own bed. It didn't smell like home. It smelled bad.  
It smelled ugly. If a scent _could_ be ugly--then that was certainly how the smell was.

And though my eyes were shut, I could see the hospital. My white, sterile room. When I opened my eyes--there would be more light--and doctors. 

The next thing was the pain.

Everything was a blur. My head was throbbing. My arms stung and burned and my legs were sore, but my back was a source of vast pain.

Gingerly, I moved one of my arms underneath the bedclothes. I lifted a hand across my chest, feeling bumps. Each bump smarted, and I realized they must be welts. Welts from the burns. From the cinders. From the zeppelin. It all returned to me in a rush of panic. I withdrew my hand, but my fingernail scraped against one of the welts painfully. A pain speared through my chest and the white light went black. 

---------

When I woke again, everything was dark. I realized this in the same moment I remember my eye was swollen. For a terrible minute, I thought I had gone blind. That was when I panicked again. Not because I thought I was blind, but because I knew I was thinking irrationally. But after a few seconds of thought, I realized I should be thankful that anything was coherent at all. I tried to focus, sitting up a little before I felt the sharp pain shoot through what felt like every nerve ending on my body. A gasp escaped my lips and I fell back against the soft, sterile bed. Ugly. Everything felt ugly right now. This bed felt alien beneath me. It wasn't my bed. And who knew how many people had slept in it before? What kind of diseases had they had? My heart hammered against my chest. I tried to stop the thoughts, but they kept coming.

The walls were ugly. Even in the dark, my eyes were adjusting and I knew for sure that the walls were white. Disgustingly white, as if someone had stood there scrubbing the walls for days to make them spotless. Unnaturally clean.

I tried to turn my head a bit to the left, but even that small movement sent pain shooting through me. I grappled with the spots of light that exploded behind my eyes, until finally they faded. I refused to pass out again. That would just be humiliating. 

"Al...?" I tried to whisper, but my throat felt like it was closed up and just from that one syllable, my throat hurt enough that I whimpered. Why me? I thought miserably. Why did it have to be me, out of everyone in London...?


	4. Brother and Blood

-1"...Alfonse?" I rasped again. Through the pain of my seared throat and chapped lips, I could hear my voice and I knew anyone else in the room would, too. But not one answered. I almost leaned forward to prop myself up, then remembered how much it had hurt to do so earlier. I felt helpless and I hated it. Loathed it. Father always said that hate was a strong word, and that I shouldn't use it often. But I really did hate this helplessness, feeling like a wounded puppy. A whimpering, sulking puppy with two broken legs. Peachy.

I wished that pleasurable numbness would spread through me again. To just lay here and wait. Wait for Roy. Wait for a brother that I wasn't even sure was alive...

Before I realized I had slept, I was awake again. My heart lifted to my throat with joy. It was daylight now, and I could see a precious figure slumped, asleep, in the wicker chair at the end of my bed.

"Al!" I cried, then immediately regretted it. My voice cracked unpleasantly and I winced, rubbing my throat. However, it _**had**_ managed to wake my brother.

Alfonse practically leaped from the chair when he heard my voice. He was so alert when he looked down at me that I wondered if he'd really been asleep at all. He looked down at me, eyes shining. Somewhere in my mind, I realized what a pretty shade of blue they were. It felt like I was noticing a lot of obscure things lately.

"Edward..." Al whispered, and his voice shook so much that I was afraid he'd cry. If he cried, I might snap and cry, too. But to my relief, he choked back his tears and continued. "I thought you might never wake up, sleepyhead," he said, forcing a quivering laugh.

I smiled faintly, feeling how the stretched-tight burns on my cheeks crinkled. "You know me, Al, always sleeping in." He laughed a real laugh then, and relief washed over me. Good, he was okay.

"A rooster crowing in your ear couldn't wake you up," Al teased, although looking over me must have sobered his humor. I _**was **_the zeppelin wreck, burnt and splintered.

"We've never lived on a farm, Al, you can't say that." I was starting to feel the burn in my throat again, and I was happy to see that Al must have gotten me a glass of water. I felt my cheeks flush as I realized I probably couldn't hold it to my lips as I had with the canteen. I had been running on adrenaline then; adrenaline that had long since been spent. Alfonse seemed confused by my pink cheeks.

"What's wrong?" he asked quietly. Was he afraid he'd offended me with his rooster remark?

"Uhm, well," I stammered, ashamed again at how helpless I was. "I don't think I can, er, hold the glass of water."

"Oh!" He was surprised and a bit relieved. Was he really that worried about offending me all of a sudden? "Sure, hold on."

He picked up the glass and cautiously angled it to my open mouth, trying to avoid a spill. I felt patronized, but knew I had no other option. And once the water flowed past my lips, I shut my eyes, enjoying the cooling sensation. I was not as delirious as I had been at the wreck, and so it never crossed my mind again whether water was better than strudel. There was no debate at this point. The water didn't taste that good, but it sure felt good.

Abruptly, there was a harsh sound and the glass jerked, splashing most of the remaining water in my face and a little even went up my nose. I coughed and sputtered, my chest heaving with the effort. However, I quieted myself when I realized what the loud noise had been.

Alfonse had dropped the glass on my sheets and both hands were clasped over his mouth. He shuddered and coughed again, coughing and hacking until I thought he would collapse from lack of air or vomit. The water dripping down my face scarcely bothered me as I watched Al's choking spasms fade. 

When he pulled back his hand, his eyes narrowed and he clenched his fist. He wiped his sleeve across the corner of his mouth, but we both knew it had been no normal cough. In my mind, I remembered coughing like that at the wreck. The splash of red that had graced my hand overlapped with the image of Alfonse coughing. Fear struck the pit of my stomach.

"Al...you're still having those fits?" I asked hoarsely. Alfonse was silent for a moment, then murmured,

"I'm sorry for splashing you like that. Here." He moved a hand to pick up a towel on the ground, but I reached out and grabbed his wrist. Pain shot through me, but I bit down on my lip so I wouldn't cringe.

"Al...you're still sick..." I said softly. "Please...while I'm here...Please, go see a doctor, Al." I realized I was pleading now, and I wondered how odd it must have felt for my brother to have me, lying in a hospital bed, broken and burnt, telling him to see a doctor. But he needed one, and we both knew that as well. I was scared for him.

Al smiled faintly and wiped his clenched hand on the towel he had meant to wipe my face with.

"Ed, don't you worry about me. This will go away eventually. You just focus on getting better, alright?"

"But, Al--" 

"Promise me you'll do that for me, Edward," he said quietly, though his eyes were intense as they looked at me. I frowned. What a stupid promise to force on me. Of course I'd still worry!

But I relented.

"Alright, I promise," I mumbled, shutting my eyes.

"Just relax, Ed. Go to sleep," Al said in a low, soothing voice. "Things will be better after you rest."

"Mmkay..." I mumbled thickly, already slipping out of consciousness. And as I fell asleep, I remembered a question I had meant to ask: _**Where's Roy?**_


	5. Other Me and Infections

-1My dreams were flecked with fear and drenched in blood. Those zeppelins, those Nazis...Hate was a strong word, but I had never hated anything more than those Nazis, not even my being helpless. Bombs dropped all over London. I was running with my dad. I shouted something at him, but...But it wasn't really me. It was my body, but...not my voice. Not my thoughts. _**Who are you?**_I wondered, stumbling and clutching my head. It hurt...It hurts so bad. Like driving a stake into my forehead.

But another bomb dropped, and fear sent pain packing. The dream seemed to shift now. I was observing from my own eyes, but not my own mind. And then there was a lapse. A new dream, but the same in a way. I saw Father driving away--or was he the passenger?--and I walked on. I heard an odd sound and looked up with wide eyes as the flaming zeppelin careened towards me...Flames licking at my cheeks...

I awoke in a cold sweat. The room was dark again; nighttime. The swelling in my throat was a little better, I noticed, because I was panting from fear of my dream, and there wasn't as much pain as consequence.

I tried to calm myself. Tried to reassure my frayed nerves that it was just a dream. But I couldn't stop my heart from thudding painfully against my chest. My hands shook and my arms were tensed. It had seemed so real...

The hours dragged on sleeplessly and dawn neared. There was a small window on the wall, and I found myself staring blankly at it as the tinges of sunrise spread across the sky. Time and time again, I tried to force my body to sleep. I would clamp my eyes shut, thinking if I faked long enough, I'd really sleep.

But every time I closed my eyes, I saw the zeppelin plunging towards me, as though it had sought me out. As though it had hunted me down...My burnt fingers clutched at the sheets.

After a long while of this anxiety, I finally did sleep. Well, I don't know if I was really sleeping or not. But I know that I dreamed.

There was a blonde boy with a braid. He was wearing a long, read coat with a strange, foreign symbol on the back. To me, it resembled a cross, but somehow the snake coiled around it made it seem more sinister.

The boy wasn't alone, though. A man in a suit of armor was with him, and a small girl. The girl couldn't have been much more than a toddler. They laughed and played but I couldn't see the boy's face. I felt as if I knew him, but how could I, with companions like those? The cross on his back also looked familiar, like I had seen it in some vague, far-off memory.

The three of them played in the snow around them, looking like it was the best day of their lives. Then suddenly, the boy rolled over and moved to the side, again turning his back to me before I could get a glimpse of his face. And then I discovered something else: the boy was a magician.

The ground glowed bright blue around him, and the little girl's face lit up with joy. What had he done? The boy reached out and tenderly placed a wreath of orange blossoms around her head. She giggled merrily, and the boy and suit of armor laughed too.

Finally, the boy turned around, looking up at the sky...

The boy was..._**me**_. But he_**couldn't**_ be me...I didn't know anyone like that, and I certainly didn't look like that boy. It was like someone stole my face. This strange magician boy couldn't possibly be_**me**_...

Suddenly...the dream went dark. Not black dark, I mean, but morbid. Before my eyes, the girl morphed. She seemed to turn into a dog, and my heart wrenched at the expression on the other me's face. The girl-dog ran and the magician boy called out to her, desperate. He scrambled to his feet and chased after her, the man in armor and the wreath of flowers left behind. It was like I was floating in front of him as he ran.

His facial expressions, only a few moments ago hidden completely from me, now seemed so clear. Before even the other me knew, I knew what had happened to the girl. Why wouldn't I? It was my dream, after all. The sky had darkened, and I knew it would rain as well. I knew the fate that awaited the girl, yet I could do nothing to stop it. I knew, but at the same time I didn't.

The boy skid to a halt on the sidewalk, and he looked down the shadowy alleyway. I watched him intently, again waiting for his reactions. He squinted, then his eyes shot open. He staggered forward, and for a moment, I wondered if he might faint. On the wall at the end of the alley, there was a huge blood splatter that somehow we both knew to be the girl's remains. Suddenly, the other me ran again, clapping his hands and slamming them against the concrete wall. Was he trying to do his magic again? To bring her back? Idiot, I thought. But my annoyance with my double vanished as sobs ripped from his throat. He kept clapping his hands and pressing them to the wall, tears streaking his face. As though the sky mourned for the loss as well, thunder rumbled softly and rain began to pour. What a sad ending, I thought morosely.

I tried to snap myself out of th dream, being well aware that it _**was**_ all a dream.But I couldn't bring myself to leave this broken boy. He was so sorrowful, so desperate...

He gave a heart-wrenching howl, and for the first time through the whole dream, I could understand what he said. He screamed: "Nina!"

And again, I awoke.

I realized I was sweating, because Alfonse was practically hanging his face over mine, wiping my forehead.

"You okay, Ed?" he asked quietly. Absentmindedly, I moved my weak, sore arm to wipe my cheek; it was slick with sweat."You had the sheets in a death grip and you were sweating up a storm..."

_A storm._ I felt kind of sick. I remembered the blood splatter, dripping down the walls, and how it had been that little girl in the snow, a circle of blooms around her pretty, long hair.

"Ed?" Al asked anxiously. "You look kind of pale..."

"I don't feel...right.." I mumbled. It was the only way I could think to describe it. I felt like I wasn't attached to my body. "I think...I have a fever..."

"I'll get the doctor," Al said softly, and with that, he got up and left. I swallowed hard, silently wanting my stomach to stop doing somersaults. Was that really me I saw? I did know of a Nina in town, but she was older than that, about ten now. I'd only seen her a few times. Her family was well-off, so she wasn't really allowed to just wander the streets. And unlike the little Nina in my dream, her hair was cut short. Nina...I shook my head. I shouldn't think about it, I scolded myself.

I laid in silence for a few minutes before Al came back with the doctor. I shut my eyes, not wanting to look at him. Doctors had always bothered me. This time, thankfully, disturbing images didn't return to me as I rested in darkness. Nonetheless, the nausea didn't fade.

I felt the doctor's cold hand touch my forehead, and I winced from the comparison against my burning skin. The doctor sighed.

"He's definitely got a fever. He may have an infection." My heart thudded. Infection? "Mr. Heidrich, since your father hasn't come yet, I'm afraid you'll have to serve as your brother's legal guardian. Do you think you can handle making decisions pertaining to how we handle Edward's condition?" I heard Al whisper a yes, then reaffirm it a little louder.

"Dad hasn't...come yet...?" I croaked, opening my eyes a bit to look at Al. Alfonse seemed to inwardly flinch.

"No, not yet, Ed...But I sent a letter to him. He probably didn't know what happened to you, that's all. He doesn't know where to look." He tried to sound reassuring, but I knew he was just grasping at straws. I shut my eyes again.

"Doesn't matter," I muttered bitterly. "If he hasn't come yet...he probably won't..."


	6. No Way Not Me

There was a heavy silence after I said that. I felt a twinge of guilt, but I was afraid to open my eyes. I didn't want to see Al's face. The long moment seemed to drag on, until finally my doctor broke the science.

"Mr. Heidrich, may I speak to you in private for a moment?" I opened one eye a slit, just to see what his reaction would be. Al seemed startled at first, but quickly composed his face again; it was a carefully neutral mask.

"Of course," my brother murmured, stepping out after the doctor. As soon as the door shut, my throat choked up. I felt immeasurably guilty for what I had said. But it was true. At the moment, I felt as if Father would never show up. I laid there, listening to the low murmurs on the other side of the door, waiting for my throat to relax. It didn't. It felt like there was a lump in my throat that I couldn't swallow. Like I was choking on something.

"Sorry..." I finally whimpered, barely audible. Yes, that had definitely been what I was choking on. Unfortunately, Alfonse wasn't in the room to hear it. And although I had gotten my apology out, just a little too late, guilt still swirled inside me. The stress was mounting up, I could just feel it. That dream was still bugging me. It had seemed too real to just be a dream. It had almost felt familiar, like a memory. But I knew that I had never experienced anything remotely close to what I had seen.

I silently argued with myself, shaking my head as I thought. At first, I told myself that dreams were often nonsense, and that it didn't have to make sense. I had seen my face, after all. But...I had known what was going to happen. I had never had that happen to me in a dream before. Especially one as unpredictable and strange as that. How could I have possibly known? And certain parts of the dream...the strange symbol on my dream-self's red jacket, for one, had seemed distantly familiar. Like they were a long-since buried memory that was gradually being unearthed. It was driving me nuts.

There must be something more. It seemed foolish to dwell on a bad dream like I was, but most of my dreams were nonsense, and when they weren't, my dream-self actually looked like me. Or it was from my point of view. Why all of a sudden was I seeing myself differently Had the accident triggered something?

I looked at the door again, more alert now. The murmurings outside were getting louder. Well, Al's was louder, but even the doctor's tone was starting to rise now. The guilt in my stomach started to subside, and I leaned forward a little bit, straining to catch a word. Unfortunately, I couldn't; their voices had dropped again. Whatever had gotten Alfonse worked up had been appeased for now, I supposed.

With a soft sigh, I leaned back on my pillow, going back to my thoughts. There had to be a logical explanation. There always was. Let's see here...Not that long ago, I'd had the dream about the zeppelin crash. That one had been like my usual dreams, since it had been from my point of view. But there was one exception: there had been someone else in my mind. A boy whose voice sounded similar to mine, if I remembered right. At first, I had thought it had just been some voice in the back of my head, like a "conscience" or something. But then, the memory of that voice and my more recent dream of the magician-boy overlapped. My heart missed a beat. A boy who looked like me. And a boy who sounded like me...Was this really just the product of some weird dream? It really didn't feel like it. Oh man...Oh man, oh man, oh man...My heart was picking up the pace now, as if it were going faster to make up for the beat it had missed. _Had_ that boy in my dream really just been a part of the dream? Or had it been something more...?

My mind reeled back through my recent recollections. I remembered clapping my hands together before the wreckage collapsed, trapping me. I remembered, but at the same time, I didn't...It didn't feel like it was _my_ memory. I saw it, but I didn't feel like I had experienced it. It was more like I'd witnessed my own actions. Muddled with my memories though, I could still hear the boy's voice in my mind: scared, desperate, furious, anguished.

_ Why? Why did you leave us?! If you and that evil bitch were so perfect together, then why did you feel the need to marry my mother?! Did you get some sick satisfaction out of pretending to be a human being?_

Bitterness had dripped from his every word. It made my heart sting just to think about it. But how could I remember it? There was no one in London that I knew of that sounded anything like me. And even then, why had the boy been so furious with my father? Marry his mother? Was he somehow related to me? My eyes widened, and in a fit of panic, the pieces flitted around, fitting together then pulling apart as I tried to make sense of it all. Was he my half-brother? _Could_ he be? No, Father would never have betrayed my mother, even after she had left...

The theories began to tumble around now, pushing the last of my earlier guilt out the tiny window on the wall. It was actually starting to give me a headache. Oddly, I actually liked that. I often got headaches when I was thinking hard. The fact that I got one now meant that for the first time since I'd gotten here, I was doing some serious thinking. That thought alone was very encouraging to me. I just wished the topic that had my brain in overdrive was a little cheerier, though in all fairness most cheery things didn't require much thought at all.

Things were sort of falling into place. They were still crooked, but I could make connections This magician-boy had been in my mind, if I wasn't completely insane and if I remembered everything correctly. He also looked like me and claimed my father had married his mother, which would make us half-brothers. It was bizarre, but...plausible. As angry as I was that Father hadn't come yet, the thought of him re-marrying set off a defensive feeling in me. He wouldn't do that! But...if he had...Did Alfonse know about this? I was too afraid to ask...

AN: I'm really sorry I slowed down on updating for a while. Not only had I gotten myself stuck by ending my last chapter the way I did (it took me a month to figure a way out of that rut XD I knew I had to keep working at it because my first option was a shouting match and c'mon, can you really see Alfonse losing his temper at his defenseless brother? snickers) but I was also very busy with school too. Got a B on my Geometry final so I was happy about that 3 Now let's hope I do well in this trimester, too. It's also been a stressful period lately, so if I'm late again on updating, y'all know why! Hehe.


	7. Time Limit

Not wanting to brood on such thoughts any longer, I looked towards the door. I could see Al's silhouette through the milky glass, but I didn't hear anything. What had he been discussing with that doctor anyways? I waited for Alfons to come back in, but he just stood there, silent. "Maybe he's just thinking…"

"Who's just thinking?" I jumped slightly, startled by a young boy's voice. I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised. After all, it's not as if I had a private room.

"U-Uh, my brother," I stammered, trying to peek through the curtain that separated us. If I could properly sit up, I would just push it aside, but unfortunately that wasn't the case. I'd just have to talk to the curtain for now.

"Is he that blonde guy that just left?" the boy asked. Judging by his voice, I'd say he was a couple years younger than me. 13, maybe 14.

"Yeah. His name is Alfons," I replied, feeling a bit awkward to stare at the curtain while I spoke. "Sorry, I'd get up and move the curtain, but the last time I tried to sit up didn't work out too well for me."

"That's okay, I can't get up either. And your brother seems really nice. He talked to me for a little bit while he was waiting for you to wake up."

"Really?" Alfons didn't have much difficulty making friends, but I still was surprised that he'd talk to a total stranger so willingly.

"Well, I started it, I guess. So maybe he was just being polite. But it was really nice. He says he works on rockets." I could hear the awe in his voice and realized that it wasn't often Alfons met people as fascinated by that stuff as he was. He must have enjoyed being able to boast a bit for once. "Is that true?" the boy asked.

"Yep!" I said proudly. "I've watched him now and then and it's really something. He works with a team, and they're all pretty nice, too."

"So do YOU know stuff about rockets?"

"No, it never really caught my interest like it did Al's. I watch, but I don't really understand anything about it. I'm more of a bookworm I guess."

"Aw, well at least you still find cool stuff in books! What's your favorite kind?"

"Mysteries," I grinned. "I love putting the pieces together and trying to figure it out before the other characters. Once in a while, if the mystery's really good, I'll just let it play out so the end is a surprise."

"Neat!" the boy said happily. "I guess mysteries are okay. I love stories about other worlds, personally. It's so neat to think about. I mean, what if there ARE other worlds? Are they like ours or completely different? What if they have monsters?"

Unbidden, I remembered my dream again, thinking of when the little girl had turned into some weird dog thing. A monster…

"Hey, what's your name, kid?" I asked.

"Emile," he responded.

"I'm Edward. You've got a pretty good head on your shoulders, Emile. Maybe someday you'll be a scientist or something!"

"Gee, you think so?" I could almost imagine him beaming, which was why I was confused when he sounded so sad as he murmured, "That'd be great…"

I meant to ask him what was wrong, but when I opened my mouth to ask, the door opened as well and Alfons quietly stepped back in. He was looking at the floor, even when he came to sit by me. His head hung low, his bangs brushing against his interlaced fingers. His shoulders slumped as if something was sitting on him…like he'd been defeated.

"…Al?" I asked quietly, looking at him and knowing my worry showed. I couldn't help it. Having heard him so riled up earlier was a rarity enough. I could only imagine what had gotten him upset to the point of silence. I'd only seen him like this, the first time being when Mom had left us.

Alfons didn't look up, but he turned his head to the side. It was like he wanted to avoid looking at me at all costs. "Al, what's wrong? Did…Did I make you mad earlier with that thing I said about Dad?"

"God, no!" Alfons exclaimed hastily, his head finally whipping up to meet my eyes. And that was when I saw his eyes were red-rimmed and puffy like he'd been…

Al hesitated, looking a bit embarrassed at his outburst. His eyes slowly looked over me, over every bump and bruise and burn that blankets and bandages didn't hide. His voice quivered as he looked back at me, whispering, "Oh Ed…" He made an odd sound, like he was fighting back tears. "Ed, you don't understand, do you…?"

"Understand what?" I frowned. "Just give me a straight answer!"

Alfons looked away. "Look at yourself, Ed…" I was confused.

"Al, I know I'm a little banged up, but it's not that bad," I said, forcing a smile, trying to reassure him. I hated to see him like this. "I don't even really feel the burns unless I move, and--"

"Broken legs." Al interrupted me in a low, quiet voice that immediately shut me up. "The doctor says your legs are infected, probably from the dirt in the wounds. You coughed up blood which means you're probably bleeding inside. And to top it all off, you're burned from head to toe…"

I couldn't think of anything to say for a few moments, and Al hung his head again. I noticed his shoulders trembling and thought, 'I should comfort him. I should bite back the pain and put a hand on his shoulder.' But I didn't. I just sat there until a thought occurred to me.

"Does that mean your fits are because of blee--"

"Damn it, Ed!" Alfons shouted, his voice cracking as he looked up at me. Tears ran down his cheeks in shiny lines. "Stop worrying about me when you're laying there DYING!"

My eyes widened and I felt like I'd been punched. But still, I don't believe it really clicked with me. Mostly, I was just in shock that Alfons had raised his voice at me. That he was crying. Why on earth would he trust the words of those quacks over mine? I wasn't in as much pain as I had been earlier. Didn't that mean I was getting better…?

For several minutes, we just sat there. No words, no movement. I listened to Al's quiet weeping, just staring at the sickeningly clean wall in front of me. And after a while, I stared past it, my eyes focused on something I could not see.

"…Is that why you and the doctor were yelling…?" I asked hoarsely, speaking without really making a conscious effort to do so. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Alfons nod his head. "Yes…"

"…How long do I have…?"

"He said maybe…" his voice broke and he had to gather himself again. "He said maybe a few days…It depends on how quickly the infection spreads."

A few days…My head spun and I fell back against my pillows. For the first time in a while, I remembered Roy and hoped he would be able to see me before then. I had no idea where he'd gone after he'd brought me here, or if he was hurt, too…God…A few days… "Bedpan," I managed to croak, and Alfons quickly shoved it in my hands where I promptly heaved what little food was in my stomach.


End file.
